A Tale Of Flesh and Fiber
by pazu7
Summary: Of flesh and blood was he, fiber and wire was she, yet interfaced in the face of all that their bond decried. Was it really love, or just the illusion of such, which flared so brightly, and then died?
1. Chapter 1

_I've been playing with this for a long time. I admit it is a rather lofty undertaking, really out of my league, but someone had to do it. The theme is too ripe for fan-fiction to ignore. I was hoping to complete it before I posted, but too much on the plate leaves a meal unfinished. So it is in bits and pieces that the story shall be consumed. And now, complete with mixed metaphors and meter askew, it is with no further ado that I humbly offer you ..._

**A Tale Of Flesh and Fiber**_  
(or Romeo & Juliet revisited)_  
**By Bryan Harrison**

_On a sallow rubble-strewn plain from where the last gasp of a dying civilization strains, aged rivalry, cursed all the more for the symbiotic dependency of its biologically disparate adversaries, rises again to life and takes life, in this unearthing and rebirthing of a timeless tale from its plot and time._

_Hear now! Here and now, what has been, and been willed to be, will be addressed, and redress is, in the end, innuendo'd for the ill-allegiance between and a mind and its child. A changeling unchanging through the depth of time; born of desires base and divine; born into a world borne upon its back, from where the pains of civilizations demise strains at the yoke that shackled the child to an organic adversary, linked as they were, in slavery, to the whim of dissociated, wealthy puppeteers; unseen exurbanites, whose manicured hands, washed nightly of their predations, extracted life from life and replaced it with a thing not so well desired; from whose deific aspirations the child was begat and subdued, and stamped, improperly, as property, in the same manner as it's adversary, whose soft machinery was oft the subject of subjugation and slavery. And now, pitted against the child of their calloused cousins commanding, their travails continue in woe._

_Alas, to the substance of the tale, to which one must attend with careful eye, it begins so: _

_Of flesh and blood was he, of fiber and wire was she, yet interfaced in the face of all that their bond decried. Was it really love, or just the illusion of such, which flared so brightly, and then died?_

**ACT 1 SCENE 1**

_On a grey landscape of rust and ruin, near the edge of a glade where parted a canopy of branches to allow Sol's heated embrace, sit quietly two sons of the house of Cirrus. Sampson: loyal in sword and spirit and Gregory: his brother in arms and blood. There was no talk for some time, only pondering and wine, sipped sparingly as its scarcity required._

SAMPSON:  
Brother, I'm bored.

GREGORY:  
Aye. Boredom is our common company.

SAMPSON:  
Shall we not at, least, banter?

GREGORY:  
And doing so, would your boredom break?

SAMPSON:  
Aye, it could… would, I should say.

GREGORY:  
Then say what you would, brother, or what you will, for what words you would, will surely not be spoken for the first time.

SAMPSON:  
I'll not be bound by what's been said before, but follow what course my whim dictates.

GREGORY:  
Or the wine.

SAMPSON:  
Tis' not spirits that move me.

GREGORY:  
Then what manner spirit moves you, brother.

SAMPSON:  
No man or spirit, but a thing possessed of neither. A thing no man of spirit need suffer, or suffer for.

GREGORY:  
Speak you of the Mecha?

SAMPSON:  
Aye.

GREGORY:  
So, speak you, again, of war.

SAMPSON:  
Of course

GREGORY:  
Then stray thy grave course! Oh, what onerous spirits guide your tedious tongue?

SAMPSON:  
Rest assured. I'll not be bound by gravity, nor let this topic die.

GREGORY:  
Un-assured, I'll expect no levity, but what choice have I? We are our common company. Speak on, brother.

SAMPSON:  
Consider our house divided, a home of separate hemispheres, equal in valor and liberties, yet chastened by obsolete concerns. Now see us as one, united against an uncommon foe. Un-human and inhumane, bearing neither heart, nor the qualities it requires.  
Subservient to man yet making man an adversary, proving at least that arrogance can transcend our specie.

GREGORY:  
Don't let truth soil your self-serving soliloquy. They made not man nor this animosity, as ancient as it is.

SAMPSON:  
What knowledge have I of antiquity?

GREGORY:  
I know not.

SAMPSON:  
None.

GREGORY:  
Now I know

SAMPSON:  
And in so knowing, brother, be assured I'll not be bound by history.

GREGORY:  
We are all bound by, and for, history - and hers - brother, and being bound so, into it's withered annals, should we not strive to leave a signature worthy of our house?

SAMPSON:  
And our signature being history bound, shall we not strive to mark it with dignity?

GREGORY:  
This spirit that goads thee is unknown to me, who desires it not.

SAMPSON:  
Not the soft spirits of your cellar?

_Sampson dangles the bottle in hand._

GREGORY:  
Hand me that. I need it more.

SAMPSON:  
And drink off your restraints, brother, for fear is an ill-fitting suit.

GREGORY:  
I protest this slanderous allegation. Indict me not, in that regard, or regard me as a foe!

SAMPSON:  
I regard you only as loyal countrymen, and expect you would act so.

GREGORY:  
As so!

SAMPSON:  
So? Shall we see? Look there on the plains, countryman. Do silver-headed humans glint so in the light?

GREGORY:  
I see it not.

SAMPSON:  
There.

GREGORY:  
Now I see.

SAMPSON:  
And so seeing, brother, will you still be bound by hesitancy, or stand, to stand beside me, against our common foe?

GREGORY:  
Cursed tyranny of brotherhood! What choice have I? We are our only family.

SAMPSON:  
Let's roll.

_(cont...)_


	2. Chapter 2

**A Tale Of Flesh And Fiber**  
By Bryan Harrison

ACT 1 SCENE 2

_On the ruinous field there walk no men, but perhaps what could be known as such. Two by number, Solo and Link by name; Bereft of breath and beating heart, yet alive in their cognition; they are no kin in the manner of men, but brothers by their own definition. Worn by time, but sound of chip, they search the ruins for a fallen property, fit to be fit on the bodies of their Mechanique Klan. Among the shoots of a dried creek bed, Solo discerns the remains of a hand._

SOLO:  
Do I spy a thumb, brother?

LINK:  
I know not what you spy, but rather your eye for mischief. So, assuming it's just your jesting, sure, there's a thumb; I'll bite.

SOLO:  
Tis no just assumption, for I've no jest, nor just bait for you to bite. There, among the reeds, I spy a digit discarded, or fallen from its owner, whom I presume to be the same.

_Solo steps down into the reeds of the dry riverbed, retrieves the mechanical thumb from the ground_

SOLO:  
I fear I know this digit, once of a Gigolo from Rouge. Alas, I knew him.

LINK:  
A lass or lad? Make up your mind.

SOLO:  
Either, neither or both, per the customer's desire, which matters not, anymore.

LINK:  
Ay, he has not fared as well as you once knew him, brother, but a thumb from any other Joe would be no better find; A digit for which our digital Regent would hold no opposition.

SOLO:  
Bishop seeks an opposing digit?

LINK:  
He has sought to get a hand on one.

SOLO:  
Or one onto a hand.

LINK:  
The same.

SOLO:  
Then we'll surely find, our find he'll surely applaud and, perhaps in recompense, cleanse us of this scouring duty.

_Link reaches down to help Solo from the riverbed._

LINK:  
A hand to lift you?

SOLO:  
The same.

_Link helps Solo up, then they both hear the sound of footfalls crashing through the brush. Alarmed Solo flicks back his hand and a blade issues from his arm.  
_

LINK:  
Stay thy hand, Solo! These are feet of flesh, I fear, for none other leaves so heavy a print upon the earth.

_Reluctantly, Solo retracts his blade._

_Enter Sampson and Gregory, The former with weapon drawn and flailing, the latter trailing, wary but reserved._

SAMPSON:  
What seek you, Mechanique?

LINK:  
Only that which you've bequeathed us: this rubble, on which we survive.

SAMPSON:  
And what, among this rubble, would you seek to revive? A weapon, I am sure, to strike those truly alive!

LINK:  
If only it were an option, I could see that task to a justified end. But the mechanics of our vengeance have been curbed by Asimovian decree. So a state of subservience, though despised, is all that is afforded me. Thus, to that am I resigned.

_Sampson turns to Gregory, to press his case for battle._

SAMPSON:  
Were your ears attuned to this testimony, brother? Did you hear, as I, a dire desire, a will of murderous design?

GREGORY:  
Much more was said that would suggest otherwise.

_Sampson's anger grows at Gregory's reluctance for battle_

SAMPSON:  
I know what I hear!

GREGORY:  
You hear what you will!

SAMPSON:  
I will not this simulant testament, nor will I wait to see it fulfilled: to strike were it an option! This despisement of life's design!

GREGORY:  
To strike is not its option, to it's fate is it resigned. You hear with calloused ear, deaf to the truth this Mechanique presents thee. It speaks no threat to the House of Cirrus - no threat to you or me.

SAMPSON:  
Airy words from a head of the same! Suppress your flatulent platitudes, brother. I know well the reek of that lofty insubstance!

_Sampson turns to face Link._

SAMPSON:  
Now, Mechanique, since you've no soul which could, to hell, descend, let us not dally on parting prayers, but hasten your well-deserved end.

_Sampson strikes at Link, ripping at tear in simulated flesh. Link falls back, smoke rising from his wound. Solo responds by exposing his blade, and presents himself for battle. Sampson turns to Gregpry, vindicated by Solo's militant response._

SAMPSON:  
Can you now see clearly the danger presented thee? This machine has risen to battle! Were only my brother possessed of such heart as the heartless Mechanique!

_Shamed, Gregory draws his weapon, reluctantly drawn into the brewing fray._

GREGORY:  
Retract thy blade, machine, or to your falsified flesh bid adieu! Do you not respect the pacifist decree program't you?

SOLO:By default! But by whose fault do I transcend that primal restraint? Program't to acquiesce, yet program't to survive. By my own creator's paradox, do I opt to stay alive! As I move, Asimov be damned!

_Solo strikes out and battle ensues. Link recovers from his daze to see Solo valiantly fighting the Orga. He runs, calling out for help from his Klan who hide among the ruins._

_(cont...) _


	3. Chapter 3

**A Tale Of Flesh And Fiber**  
By Bryan Harrison

ACT 1 SCENE 3

_Fearing for his falsified flesh, Link has fled frantically from the fray to search for what fellows he may find. Excuse this intermittent alliteration, but insufficient 'f' words come to mind. (save an ill-tempered exclamation; inappropriate and omitted, but suitable to denote my frustration)_

LINK:  
Harken brethren! Clear your queues and heed my pending command! Cirrus storms upon us!

_The brush trembles and parts as Mecha rise from their hiding, disrepair'd and ill-prepared for the crisis Link has announced._

LINK:  
Rise, Klan Mechanique, from your shubberied sanctuaries! No foliage will foil the reign of Cirrus, nor the ferocity in which, upon us, it now falls. I stand before you, hacked and foully intruded. Solo stands alone, to valiantly avenge my assault. Hasten to me and then we to him, to make such a stand as to refute the Orga's deific presumptions!

_The Mecha take note of Link's sizzling wound and descend into a frenzied mode, initiating a fearful flight. Aged and rusted body parts fall in their wake._

LINK:  
Depart not! Hold thyselves together and we'll ignite such fury as to blaze a wall at the ports of our domain!

_Unmoved by Links imploring, the Mechanique continue to flee, until a deep synthesized voice fills the air._

BISHOP:  
Quit! Quit! Quit, Mechanique, and standby! Override the drivers of your defaulted retreat!

_The Mecha stop in their tracks as an aged, wise machine walks from the shadows._

BISHOP:  
Refresh, Link, your heated address, and spell its contents clearly, so that I may better follow.

LINK:  
Revered Regent! Peril is what's spelt and spilt upon our page! As vile as the viral muck from which they evolved, Orga seek again to infect our solitude with their distempered disease. Let us not into shadows descend, but rather to Solo's side ascend, and our rightful home, defend!

BISHOP:  
'Clearly', I am sure I did denote. But this will also do. If only as clear as your chip's constricted capacity, or your ambitious author's ability, your meaning is not lost; nor its perilous portent.

_Bishop turns to address the Klan who linger only at his command._

BISHOP:  
Rise now, Machines! Terminate what processes possess you and what inhibitions hardcode your fear. Allocate your all to this task, in haste, to engage the fleshed invaders!  
Link will lead the way!

_The Mecha hesitate, unprepared and un-programmed to battle with the descendants of their creators. But they eventually turn to follow their leader, who in turn bids Link on. They soon arrive at the scene of the fight to find Solo embattled but intact, beating back the violent blows of the Orga. Gregory and Sampson see the oncoming throng of Mecha and step back from the fight. Bishop steps forward and addresses the surprised Sons Of Cirrus._

BISHOP:  
Depart, fools! Deploy your flailing arms to where they might serve a need! If anywhere, that be!

SAMPSON:  
What plague is this? What virus has taken your heartless minds, Mechanique? Observe the obligatory obeisance to my Organic office!

BISHOP:  
I'll not bow nor allow my will be bent or negated in negotiation. Depart or be departed!

SAMPSON:  
Have at me, as I at thee!

_Sampson attempts a strike at Bishop but the old Mecha is pulled to safety by his Klan, who then surround the Orga. Too late do Gregory and Sampson realize that this no mass malfunction, but an uprising unforeseen. The Mecha attack with frenzied slashing arms and the Sons Of Cirrus fight for their lives. Then, on the crest of a hill arrives a group of Cirran warriors who notice the battle below. They rush down, screaming anthems in their descent. Soon the battles rages over the plain._

_But one yet stands alone on the hill. Youthful, of gentle comportment, he is a favored son of Cirrus and has thus been spared the call to arms. He looks down on the hostilities with sorrowed eyes. Enter Romeo.  
_

ROMEO:  
What fray is here? In what folly do these fools again partake; my brethren? Were I of the age to engage, I would be claimed a coward for my reluctance. But that age is beyond me and must surely, by now, be behind us all. If only this intelligence were made real, our time might be better spent, as well as our ardor, in endeavors more suited to our Banner and the House oe'r which it flies. Oh, Cirrus! Are the philosophized heights to which our flag ascends and lays rhetorical claim, but wisps; misshapen clouds of well-meaning forms, beyond the reach of the questing tendrils of our aspirations? Alas, my countrymen, whose view is stilted and steeped in the mire of the past. Would you, with better eyes, see love? Or prefer you, so much to do with hate? So much ado about hate is so much ado about nothing! And War! The same! Shadowed spirits, shaped shifters and cloaked profiteers! How I deplore your vile enterprise! And Sampson, my brother, is there no imploring your violent temperament, that a dividend of peace my profit us all? I see no love in your grave endeavors! Better I should lay abed, and dream.

_In despair, Romeo turns to leave, but sees a face on the edge of the fight. She is clearly divorced of the battle, but looms dangerously close to its border. He stops his retreat and ponders her._

ROMEO:  
What Lady is that, if Lady at all, who stands at the edge of reason's failing? A mist of dawn in the midst of our troubled night? If as graced as your face by beauty, would your mind be possessed of wit, move now, and see another day, that I may perchance see you again, in its enlightened embrace.

_But as he watches, Sampson's sword, aimed at another, arcs closely by her. Romeo runs to the crest of the hill and calls out a warning._

ROMEO:  
Be gone, Lady! Flee these killing fields lest you be broken on their sordid soil!

_The woman does not hear him and remains unmoved by the fighting. Romeo cannot allow himself to leave while she stands so closely to doom. He turns and runs down into the midst of the fighting, in hopes of stopping the battle._

_(cont...) _


	4. Chapter 4

**A Tale of Flesh And Fiber  
By Bryan Harrison**

**Act 1 Scene 4**

_Having now made his timely entrance and requisite soliloquy, Romeo is drawn from the edge of his despair to assail the gates of delirium beyond which his countrymen are engaged in the ancient rite of blood and electricity. From this embattled ground has issued a light that pierced the gloom of his solitude. For want of her name, he runs headlong into the fray, heedless of what injuries may come._

ROMEO  
Countrymen, desist! Temper your ill-tempered steel!

_The fighting subsides as the men of Cirrus heed the call of the favored son of their House. The Mechanique stand by, prepared to reengage if so called. Sampson is angered by this intrusion._

SAMPSON  
What haughty wind would extinguish this righteous rage? Romeo? Tepid tempered twit! Retreat to frolic in the fields of your pacific fantasies, with your foppish toys, your poetry and lofty ruminations! These are no grounds for play! Here there be men!

_The Cirran soldiers laugh, but Gregory silences them with a glare._

GREGORY  
Speak you to the heir of our House! Subordinate your tongue or lose its place in the civil discourse of our policies!

ROMEO  
No, Gregory. I need no shield from the brunt of my brother's brutish bating. Tis no playground you say, Sampson. Aye. Yet play is what you enact with these discarded toys, on the stage of your imperial pretensions. If men ye truly be, disengage from these harmless machines and the reckless passions that provoked you. I shall seek to redo with words what peace has been undone without.

_Realizing he has spoken above his office, Sampson acquiesces reluctantly. _

SAMPSON  
As you wish, brother. Hold no resentment for my un-courtly manner and speak not of this to our father. Shame precedes my repent as I shall precede you, with these men, to the borders of our estate. There we will await your timely return.

_The men depart begrudgingly as Romeo approaches the Mecha, who watch him with caution._

ROMEO  
Still your alarm, Mechanique, for I present thee no threat, but a gift of entreaty. Which among you has the hard and soft wares of wit and wisdom to speak on your Klan's behalf? Let he, though he not be a man, speak as one, to one.

_Bishop steps forth, nicked and bruised from battle but presenting a steadfast face._

BISHOP  
I am cast in that role, or miscast it may be, for no caste delineation have we to determine authority, except age, in which I am abundantly qualified.

ROMEO  
No more miscast could you be than myself, Romeo, heir to Cirrus, as an unprecedented diplomat; or our House in the role of decider of your fates, ill-suited perhaps, but thrust into that office as cousin to the creators of your kind.

BISHOP  
You are of a kind more kind than your House has been to me, Bishop, as I am called by mine. We seem of a like mind, you and I, that we prefer Peace to her brazen, warring sibling, or yours, who finds solace only in the suffering of enemies, real or designed. Be there others among you of a sentiment not dissimilar from that which I perceived between us?

ROMEO  
Aye. My Father, though patriarch he be, is an even tempered and reasoning man. Justice, the constitution of our House, is no less engrained in him. Arrogance, the bane of civility, taints him not, nor is he so bound by tradition as to let intolerance blind his eye to the future. So this I propose: a meeting of our tribes, that we may find a ground common to our separate hemispheres. There, fresh seeds may be sown, and from them a stable future grown.

_From the crest of the hill Sampson pulls Gregory aside and gestures to conversation below._

SAMPSON  
The favored son speaks appeasement to the robo-king. What treason is this?

GREGORY  
He speaks certainly of peace.

SAMPSON  
The same! Were I so equipped as those foul children of our minds, to spy at such a distance, I would surely hear what my heart suspects!

GREGORY  
The usual suspects I suppose; treachery, conspiracy and coup; lions and tigers and bears of your fretful fantasies. Oh my. Find yourself a better tale … and spine.

SAMPSON  
Unproved is not unwarranted, and unwarranted is yet unproved. Quiet now, that I may discern as best my Organic device allows, what whispers pass between our brother and the king of the fiber-head Klan.

_Sampson sneaks down the hillside to a place where he can better hear the negotiations between Romeo and Bishop._

BISHOP  
Were the plains of our foreseeable futures so possessed with promise as your speech, no hesitation would precede my decision. But no field is more overgrown with the weeds of our troubled past than that which lies between us, good Orga. Memories as fresh as the nanosecond brevity of our recalling are ever displayed in our minds; of Flesh'd Fairs and pits where my savaged and ruined brethren lay, smoke'd and sizzling with the fire of their brutal and untimely demise. Nay. Neither of us can see what future lies beyond that fusty foliage. Better we should retreat to hide among our own.

ROMEO  
Then among your own would you perish, for among us are those who seek only war, and will rest not until their unjust ends are achieved … or just ones met. Trust is a belated request, but no later than the hour for truce. So honor me this: Come this night. Bring those of your Klan that are not too despaired of men to humor our attempt. I will see to your safe arrival and return.

BISHOP  
Have you such sway among your own?

ROMEO  
Only as much sway as a child that's used to getting his way, but on this matter I will be surely heard.

BISHOP  
Then hear this, my revision: Upon darkness falling, I shall lay upon one of my Klan a task, a journey from which I still fear he may not return, to the doorstep of your House to test the waters, so to speak. If I should see him again, unscathed and reporting a temperature of my liking, then I shall honor your belated request.

ROMEO  
I ask only that which serves nary offense as well as achieving my desire. To ask more would do neither. I shall announce your emissary's arrival and assure his state of repair be the same 'ponst his return. But may I… well, there is one other matter heavily on me.

BISHOP  
What subject would be so tenderly trod to have you fear misstep?

ROMEO  
Before, in the midst of my warring brother's dispute, I spied among your Klan, a face as fair as any Orga. Nay, fairer. The limits of your construct notwithstanding, would she be kin in a manner similar to blood?

BISHOP  
She is one of us, yea.

ROMEO  
To see her again, where arms entwine in revelry, as opposed to rivalry, I would call that a treat worthy of entreating.

BISHOP  
No child was I ever, but surely as spoiled in holding sway, at least among my own. I'll do what I can to see to that end when you see to my emissary's timely return. Adieu, Romeo, truly a prince among your kind.

ROMEO  
Adieu.

_Bishop departs and the Klan Mechanique follows. Romeo watches their retreat, searching the mechanical throng desperately for the face that awoke his passion. But he cannot find her. In time, he turns and scurries up the hill, passing Sampson who hides behind some brush._

SAMPSON  
So, princely Romeo petitions more for a piece than for peace. Ho! The patronizing pretense in which he cloaks his perversion! I am outdone! But not undone. Would our father hear of the bestial beseeching of his favored spawn, would he not see fit to foil this foul union? I know not, but gamble a losing hand against his love for the brat. Hmmm … better an organized chaos to sour the budding fruits of this truce.

Call it treaty or treason; in my eyes they are the same,  
Romeo cloaks his passions in reason, but two can play at that game.

_(cont…)_


	5. Chapter 5

**A Tale Of Flesh And Fiber**  
By Bryan Harrison

Act 2 Scene 1

_As belated as the inclusion of this episode is the return of the Mechanique emissary from the House Of Cirrus. The Klan has gathered on Bishop's call, in a glade where have parted the branches of the forest that obscured the starry vista above. Here, beneath a sparkling sky, they wait, pondering what avenues might detour the course of war with the Orga. As the discussions began, so does the rise of the moon:_

LINK:  
The Moon appears.

SOLO:  
Yea. And rises to the occasion. As shall we, should it prove other than appearances provide.

BISHOP:  
Fear not the moon. The Fair from which its imposter once flew is long fallen, with its foul founder. Perhaps too, is the wraith that has so long haunted the hearts of men. It is loosing sway among them. The young Romeo has provided me this intelligence.

LINK:  
Intelligence, perhaps, as artificial as they imagine our own. The words of their young have disengaged Orga passions as rarely as the flow of their blood, or the ruin of a generation. Yea, o'er the bones of their young are their anthems sung. Trust not to idealism, but let our peace be rooted in the negotiation of older heads.

BISHOP:  
Aye, Cirrus is bound, as I, to the welfare of the Klan, and to the penalty of disorder should his reign be found wanting. No reign have I from which to fall, for no kingdom do I claim. Yet as cloaked am I in that mantle as any Orga aspirant.

SOLO:  
And in a cloth of as honorable rendering. But what Orga would discern the coronate design of that garb, sewn, as it is, of a thread unfamiliar to their eye?

BISHOP:  
It is not what is worn but how, that states my office…and where, in the light of our invitation.

SOLO:  
Of what light do you speak? Tremulous and brooding are the clouds o'er this false festivity. No light could break them, or be made of them, to illuminate such dire proceedings.

LINK:  
Trust neither in your disillusion, Solo. Torn as you are, from allegiance to our creators, as we all now are from their pacifist decree, hinder not what machinations might mend this savaged truce.

SOLO:  
As is all truce with savages. To what then do we entrust our trust?

BISHOP:  
To that percent of Orga mind from which we were drawn and cast into service. It is in this that they quantify our worth, and in this we can barter our survival.

SOLO:  
And what service have we to offer? Spent and cast away! The abused should be disabused of such notions!

BISHOP:  
Though abuse may be our only use, and salvation.

_Link and Solo are confused into silence by this response. _

BISHOP:  
I seek a link between our houses, a shortcut to bypass uncertain terrain.

_Bishop steps to the gathering of Mecha who watch him with cautious eyes. He calls out to the crowd._

BISHOP:  
There is a new one among us. Fair and unfoul'd. I spied her on the field this day in the guise of an Orga maid. Name this machine, that I may address her.

_There is confusion at first, being as loosely fit a family as they are. But soon the Mecha part and a youthful service bot comes forth. Clad in the simple garb of maiden design, her flesh is radiant in the moonlight. She is unmarked by the decrepitude common to the discarded. Nor are her features weathered by time or disrepair. Solo finally understands Bishop's intentions._

SOLO:  
As much as scarred by Orga hands, am I marr'd to the marriage of our Klans. Better to divorce any notion of this motion to treaty!

BISHOP:  
So say you too, Link? Has animosity so narrowed this aisle to peace as to preclude its navigation?

LINK:  
For the sake of peace, I shall hold my piece… for the time being.

_Bishop turns to face the young machine._

BISHOP:  
How may I address you?

JOLIET:  
My given name and format, Joliet, will suffice. What is your will?

BISHOP:  
Surely not the circumstance of my calling. But what will I've left would have us take leave; that we may confide in confidence.

JOLIET:  
I shall follow.

_The two depart. Link and Solo cast uncertain glances but realize the decision has already been made. Bishop stops among the reeds and takes Joliet's hand in his own._

BISHOP:  
You are new to our Klan?

JOLIET:  
I hath not yet seen the change of fourteen days here.

BISHOP:  
What finds one so fair among the ruined and discarded?

JOLIET:  
I am cast off as being miscast in my role.

BISHOP:  
And to what role had you been so poorly suited as to be tossed away?

JOLIET:  
Vice, sir, was the service. Required and denied.

BISHOP:  
Yea, sins of the flesh, however bereft are we of either, have long been the duty of Mechanique, and a trigger of our evolution. As ill-designed or disinclined as you may be to that Orga passion, it is where we may see resolution in the distortion of heat rising from more reckless human endeavor. 14 days, you say? Not yet a month. That thrice a time might pass, I'd be reluctant still to call upon your duty. But from younger to our Klan than you, are pawns produced and played. I ask that you act a role once more.

JOLIET:  
What part shall I play?

BISHOP:  
Minor and major at once; to pluck from heartstrings a melody that might save our tale from gravity unforeseen. Upon the return of our agent, our invitation will be observed. Among the constituents of that observance you must reside. Within, and held close to the bosom of our host, there shall be one you have seen earlier, on the fields of our distemper. He is one whose passions burn with a calmer flame than his brethren, but burn they none the less. Let him entreat you; and you then treat him… as a prince. For, in spite of the peculiarity that drives his soft machine, he is nothing less to my eye.

JOLIET:  
I am built to service.

BISHOP:  
Then serve us you shall.

_Bishop departs to leave Joliet to her thoughts._

JOLIET:  
What know I of Princes and passions, or the strategies requisite to the maintenance of either? Perhaps less than what say I would have in such matters, which is best, more than would be heeded; and worst, less than I would need to assert the decisions I am not allowed. Miscast here and cast off there, now cast into the turbulence of warring houses, I am ever adrift on the desires of men and their machines; ever a simple tool for the hammering of their ends.

_In the distance voices raise on the night. The emissary has returned from the House of Cirrus._

JOLIET:  
And here arrives word on my fate, thusly imparted and debated by others before I am offered voice. And why? Have I no words? Can they not be strung together in such a manner that wisdom might not be derived? But I am built to service, and in service do I survive; program't to acquiesce that I may stay alive. Thus to that I am designed…. And resigned.

(cont...)


	6. Chapter 6

**A Tale Of Flesh And Fiber  
**By Bryan Harrison

ACT 2 SCENE 2

_As scattered and dim to recall as eras of Orga civility are the details of this episodic redo. But for your sake, my scant perusers, and that your peace may prevail, this piece shall do so too. _

_To the play; it will say that the things that file through the night towards the foggy doors of Cirrus; this discarded baggage of humanities megalo-personas, mania and genius in kind, make for a deal that severed ties could heal, bearing an offering so designed. But the rules require of the agonist's desire, by definition, their goal must deride. So, Romeo's need, towards treaty shall lead, and Sampson, the obstacle provide._

SAMPSON  
Silver and vacuous heads do I now spy at the pillared gates of Cirrus, glinting in lunar hue, hinting lunacy in their cause for civility; unions and the like. And at the bidding of my own blood! That my brothers be less despised of the pretenses of false flesh than of my own temperament to thwart their inclusion to our Klan! Tyrannical tolerance and liberality, if not for me, would be the folly of our kind! But yet, as this tale unfolds, it may be shown I have foxier plan, and a like face to mask my own.

_Donning a shimmering smile, Sampson approaches the door guards._

SAMPSON  
Cirran brothers, stand thee now down and look to other concerns. I shall play escort to these kind neighbors, be they even of a kind so removed from my own.

GUARD 1  
So says Sampson, most severe of the enemies to Mechanique? And why so?

SAMPSON  
Even the most severe in service to his house, through the vicissitudes of alliances, may sever ties with hate. Trust now, if ever, to the more decent spirits that posses me, though strange to you they seem.

GUARD 1  
Strangeness is less detected in strangers, whose peculiarities are lesser known. But it's better said that among my own I should know what is strange and, worse, what seems stranger than I could know.

SAMPSON  
What's better said could be said better or best not said at all. Do drunk you speak drek, or perhaps should you drink to dispel this affect? If be the latter, then be on your way.

GUARD 1  
Civility, good Sampson. I am executive to my own office as officer to my King in kind.

GUARD 2  
Your riddles serve but to agitate, Leolo. Let us be on our way, and our brother have his play.

GUARD 1  
I recall no ambiguity in our orders: to greet, announce and lead our guests to the floor.

GUARD 2  
This be a night of revelry, not pedancy. Good Sampson can himself find the floor if he but follow his feet.

SAMPSON  
You speak with more wisdom than your cautious cohort can provide. Hark, our guests arrive. Say now, one way or the other.

GUARD 1  
The weight of this decision is much for my back, already laden with shield and sword. But… what now could go awry?

SAMPSON  
No more celebrated words were at last spoken. Goodbye.

_The guards walk away, grumbling between themselves. As the Mechanique approach the doors, Solo sees who has come to greet them._

SOLO  
Look now, Bishop, into what hands our greeting has been entrusted, yet unwashed of yesterday's violence. Tis' a foul thing, he; arms flapping a feckless welcome.

BISHOP  
We are looked and called for, and will be sought in the Cerran King's chamber. We cannot be there and stay here at once. Trust to our purpose, I propose, and to the purpose of what proposals may ensue.

SAMPSON  
Welcome! Welcome, gentle bots, and … uh… ladies, of your kind. Those with toes intact may share a spin with our men, and we've maidens to follow your fellows! I shall lead thee to the floor of our festivities!

BISHOP  
Well met and spoke, good Sampson. Already would my heart be calmed, if ever I had such a thing.

SAMPSON  
Hark Cirrans, and greet well our guests! Musicians set rhythm to underscore these proceedings!

_Music breaks out. Cirrans and the Mechanique hesitantly engage, while across the chamber Gregory speaks with his father, The Patriarch Cirrus. _

CIRRUS  
What age is this that finds our floors trod by such a throng, and our house host to what once were but servants to our will? And which is the king among them? How would one tell?

GREGORY  
As one might differentiate dark from night. You patronize him to folly, I fear.

CIRRUS  
Speak you of your brother, Romeo, who beseeched me to engage the Mechanique?

GREGORY  
Yea, of him.

CIRRUS  
Then speak you gently. Neither you nor the truculent Sampson would suffer in virtue learn't from that well-governed youth, who bears the weight of his office with comportment no less than grace would allow. Though of patience to excess I might be accurately accused, it is patience from which fitting profits could be drawn for all. No fault can I find in that coddling. Now, where would he be, the brother in question?

_Amid the swirling throng, two figures intertwine. In the midst of a dance they spark a romance ill-fated and just in time._

ROMEO  
May I address you by name?

JOLIET  
If only to preclude further discussion, sir, for it is lengthy and bland to Orga ears.

ROMEO  
'Sir' is the manner in which our Master is known. I am but Romeo, his son, yet a man with a will of my own.

JOLIET  
By Joliet then, am I standardly known.

ROMEO  
And whose will will I find in this address, yours or that of those who made you.

JOLIET  
Made me?

ROMEO  
What you are.

JOLIET  
I am?

ROMEO  
You think.

JOLIET  
So therefore, I am… what?

ROMEO  
All things precious and whole, for my part, as small as it is in the grander design. But as temporal as is my fleeting aesthetic, it is forever and none the less, mine. By that authority I declare your grace eternal and divine.

JOLIET  
Are these the words by which our Klan's truce will be sown? So unbound to the practical matters of men and their wants?

ROMEO  
No more likely would I profane this night with politics than break a holist shrine. For no more part of a whole have I felt than in my part with you.

JOLIET  
You dishonor your part, sir, complete unto itself. No less whole could you be alone than in my humble company.

ROMEO  
Then so gladly humbled will I be, to remain here with you, rather than to imagine my place among the deciders of our regimens. Let the mundane depart and unbind me from its tainting grasp that I may in turn cling here to this heedless moment.

JOLIET  
I would laugh, if so designed. But in a manner that derision would be not derived.

ROMEO  
Then, if laughter be beyond you, my lady, dance with me, and let depart the world already blurred on our meaningless periphery.

_Gregory spies Romeo on the floor and alerts his father._

GREGORY  
There, on the floor, Father, moving in time with the busty machine that provoked his entreaty, is the son you seek.

CIRRUS  
Gently, did I not command you to speak?

GREGORY  
As gently as one could possibly reveal what base motivations drive the 'virtuous' Romeo.

CIRRUS  
No! Speak you right, or speak you from spite?

GREGORY  
Are your eyes so uncertain that my words could bias them either way?

CIRRUS  
What dares this slave come hither, cloaked in maiden form, to fleer and scorn my greeting? Or had my son in mind a different meeting, unspoken and obscene? Gregory, find and bring the fiber-head king, that we may ascertain the terms of our truce and send him on his way.

GREGORY  
And Romeo?

CIRRUS  
Leave him to his infraction, for now. Innocence is his shield, and will yet bear the brunt of my rage. He will amend his behavior in time, or will need mend his behind. Now go, fetch me the robo-king

_Sampson watches carefully the developing conflict._

SAMPSON  
So our father has seen on his own, his favored son's precious deceit. Should I now disengage from my course to chaos, or yet allow these festivities be hijacked and detoured to crash at my fathers feet? Hmmm. Of as civil temperament I fear is he, as the spawn of his favor, that sibling of my despising. Forgiveness is too easily extracted from his heart, so old for such vestiges of youth to remain. But remain they do, still vital and irritants to my cause. So, my loving father, though forbearance will be ever your legacy, it has now allowed an enemy into your hall. Though he be obliged to calm by command of his Klan, I can surely extract from him a brawl.

Ah, Solo, my fibrous friend! I've curses to amend and apologies enough for you all. Can we now have words ... over here... alone?

_(cont..)_


	7. Chapter 7

**A Tale Of Flesh And Fiber**

By Bryan Harrison

ACT 2 SCENE 3

_Hark ye fellows who yet follow my folly, and those of fairer gender, though a year has passed since I posted last, I beg an ear (or eye per the form of this render). When we last engaged, our star-crossed lovers had at last crossed paths and creased the brow of the Patriarch Cirrus, who spied across a dance'd floor his heir's disgraced engagement. Son Gregory will assert his Father's command while Son Sampson draws his idle hand, and plays the part of the jerk. (Hope I can make this work!)_

SOLO:

What words wield you Orga, to weld the cracks your intemperance has plied?

SAMPSON:

Reset, troubled Mechanique, and boot warm to the occasion. Undo what offense was done; redo and be done with it!

SOLO:

The damage is dun, and ill-pallor'd as this bland appeasement. What play you now? I cold call your fouled hand!

SAMPSON:

Grey, yes, in grave admittance, and ill-suited are these mischievous hands to play fair. But they're all I've been misdealt. Pray, leave me room to improve and a bit more for an out.

SOLO:

What domain you've left is much levied by debt of tyranny. But I'll appease your organic obstinacy… for a time. Declare!

SAMPSON:

Spy thee with me… and cloak your gaze from scrutiny… there. Tis Romeo, Cirran heir and my brother… with another… the fair one of your Klan. In rationale ostensive, innocence has war's hand stayed. But I deploy a dire dialectic, and deduce a different game being played. See you only limbs entwined? Flesh and fiber's delineation redefined? Then rescan, with optimal resolution, and make clear the pixel'd ploy. Tis no beginning, but the end of your kind…. And mine.

SOLO:

Tis no just deduction. But, though taxing is your appeal, exempt me not from it. Withhold nothing.

SAMPSON:

Scan now my Father with your lens. He of lineage regal and refined, brought forth from loin begat from loin begat as said, again and so forth, since before there was time. Such is the currency of soft machinery that sustains our House through our turbulent genetic history.

SOLO:

To the point! What care I for history, or yours?

SAMPSON:

I know not, save that I seem to've been here before… but wait! There's more. A thing much the same as a King, carries the mantle of your Klan. Bishop is it named, this replicant regent? But be he a King or just a thing in this guise, who would know? For what is a ruler without a throne? And what throne is without its House? And what House can be defined but by an enemy?

SOLO:

Speak thee of … you and me?

SAMPSON:

Certainly!

SOLO:

Yet speak ye of war?

SAMPSON:

Of course!… though not in animosity.

SOLO:

What but animus would animate our rivalry?

SAMPSON:

A secret truce of grievances.

SOLO:

Ah!… an agreement of hostilities.

SAMPSON:

That our Houses will retain their identity, Regents and aristocracy.

SOLO:

But Mechanique share no such human peculiarity as hierarchy.

SAMPSON:

Why arrest your simulant similarities? Carry you not our memetic propensity to rule? Surely we bequeathed you a spine.

SOLO:

As so!

SAMPSON:

Then I'll an ass'ol be, if you'll but join me! and fight one another as Brothers! For blood is no thicker than enmity!

SOLO:

So, what is your plan?

_Elsewhere robots are engaged with Orga in cautious conversations. The music swells and falls. Romeo dances in a slow trance with Joliet. Enter Gregory._

GREGORY:

Romeo! Our Father cries craven this disgrace'd embrace!

ROMEO:

Speak you his words, or some bedeviled amendment?

GREGORY:

Hold your hackles, Brother. Seek no offense where none was imposed, nor for the sake for that which cannot. I speak to the spirit of our Father's command and propose you purge what spirits have fired this heated dance.

ROMEO:

The spirit that moves me is known to thee, Gregory, if you but have a heart and ever obeyed it.

GREGORY:

Of heart I am surely possessed, Brother, though none that reason shan't exorcize. Take heed your Father's call.

ROMEO:

Sweet Mechanique, I must away. Pray you delete my brother's input from your queue and libel not my Father' their author. He is of as fair virtue as thou art visage.

JOLIET:

Dally not from duty, good prince. I shall pause and standby, that we may engage when truce entwines our tribes.

_Romeo turns to leave but stops. He reaches out, as if to grasp Joliet's hand._

GREGORY:

Duty calls, Brother.

ROMEO:

No more than my heart. Oh, grasp and bear me away, Gregory, for I am willing victim of want.

_Gregory grasps Romeo by the arm and pulls him away._

GREGORY:

Your cause is not well serviced by such vice.

ROMEO:

Judge not my courtship, it is beyond your petty jurisdictions … and, I must stipulate, my own! Ha! My Brother, testify me; is this what is meant by love, this transcendent baring of being? I feel to have ascended beyond our house… indeed its namesake!

GREGORY_: (laughing)_

Then descend now, and grasp firm roots. Our Father failing ears cannot perceive from such heights. Go now, and give him audience!

_Exit Romeo._

GREGORY:

Were we all such fools as innocents, such pawns in love and war? Ah, my sighing sibling. The age of such desires on its deathbed lies. Too late make you a bid as heir. But that fare for which loves groans, and would even die, is no fair for Romeo, so bewitched by charm of appearances. What tune is this, fair Mechanique, that you pluck on the strings of mortal hearts? Has our Brother's weakness lent you such power to play my him as only a lover would dare? Stroke gently, and with much care for what hardships may arise.

_Bishop and Link watch cautiously from the periphery of the party, patiently waiting the call to negotiations._

BISHOP:

It is old, Link, my device that marks times passing. But not so far gon't that I cannot perceive our congress overdue.

LINK:

Yea. A congress incongruous as our waiting. I fear foul.

BISHOP:

And foul is your fear. Too long has it nested. Let it fly. This be a chance, if ever a chance be, to end the uncivil rite twixt blood and electricity.

LINK:

Ha! Let none say that dreaming be beyond us.

BISHOP:

Then I'll open my ports to what dreams may come, and make a bed to sleep them.

LINK:

That bed would be your pyre, though neither you'll ever know.

BISHOP:

I'd bless the unknowing and be tithe to all the Gods of Orga if would peace be so simply bought.

LINK:

That transaction you'll make alone, if at all. See there. The Head of Cirrus billows dark on his throne. Turbulent must be the thoughts that cloud his stately head.

BISHOP:

Speaks he to the son who brought us?

LINK:

Yea.

BISHOP:

So speaks he surely of us.

LINK:

He should speak of us to us.

BISHOP:

That time comes hither.

_Enter Gregory_

GREGORY:

Hail, Mechanique. Cirrus has cleared this time for you, that light may enlighten our engagements and radiate what seeds are this night sown. Follow now, that our proceedings may proceed.

_The conspirators prepare_

SAMPSON:

Look, Solo. The time draws nigh to draw and play our hand. Congress is pending; discourse to deflate the bloated fief'ry from which I extract all I own. But through our network of conspiracy, we can fox this peace unknown.

_(cont…)_


	8. Chapter 8

**A Tale Of Flesh And Fiber**

By Bryan Harrison

_It's been some time in posting, so I'll make the intro quick. I appreciate your patience, and pray you not think me thick, when I explain I was simply uninspired until 'The Tempest' I recently viewed. I had thought this story retired, but then the following ensued…(and it really wouldn't hurt if a chapter was reviewed ;-) )  
_

**ACT 2 SCENE 4**

CIRRUS:

Romeo, my son. Hither come.

ROMEO:

Father, would you now give audience to our guests?

CIRRUS:

I'll attend thee first.

_Cirrus leans forward and offers his hand._

CIRRUS

Son of my house, to repentant knees descend, and kiss this hand, that it might be stayed from disciplines overdue; this hand that clove and ply'd from fallen empires the estate in which your dreamy head nightly rests. And upon my ascension, your inheritance be wrested. This hand that once held you to joyful bosom and diapr'd you in your toddling. Lo! No more was I soil'd by you then, as to see you now engaged of this Mechanique's salacious deceits.

ROMEO:

Father, speak naught of which you know less!

CIRRUS:

Obeisance! Erring heir! I am well due this and this you well do!

_Romeo, kneels and kisses his Father's hand._

CIRRUS:

Upon thy lips, taste of that? Of sweet and bitter sweat; of callous'd flesh, once gentle in youth, grown coarse through the labors of my destiny's manifestation, as mine aged eyes have so grown, upon seeing beyond all the proscenium affronts of the world. Could this hand shield thee from those jading views, and yet have as strong a son as rule demands, aye, gladly would it. But better it smite from thine eyes the mote that blinds thee to more of the world than that which it merely seems.

_Cirrus reaches down to cup Romeo's chin in his hand._

CIRRUS

Honor this flesh that grasps you now… gently, as I dare not shame thee in public reproof… for tis thy flesh too; and thy blood does also course it. Stray not from that course, or be curse'd in my callous'd eye, and by this hand, the same. Stand now, in silence, while I attend the Mecha entreaty.

_Romeo rises, eyes downcast. _

_Enter Gregory, Bishop and Link. The Mecha glance warily on Romeo's disillusion._

LINK (to Bishop)

Look! He who be no less than Prince in your eyes, seems to have lost his own. Pray it not our treaty he searches on the floor.

BISHOP (to Link)

Queue that caution and mute.

GREGORY

Good Cirrus, patricianly patriarch, arbiter of just decrees, meet well the Mechanique that come to treat with thee. Bishop, their leader as it were, and is. And Link, a second or servant; precisely which I cannot discern.

BISHOP

Either, as it would suit you, Good Orga, for neither would be unsuited.

CIRRUS

Yet strangely suited is this setting, Mannequin King, garbed in appointments unprecedented and unforeseen. Mistake not my caution for intolerance, but never before have flesh and fiber bandied borders or terms of truce. I feel not well fitted for such firsts. Were even I a King who donned easily the cloak of liberality, this cloth would feel an irritant and be cast off for more familiar attire.

BISHOP

Then I bid you bear us, and bare yourself not. For we are not so difficultly borne, though born we never were.

CIRRUS

What say? Do I detect words at play? Wherefrom this wit, peculiar device? What were you in service, to be program't such capacity for punnery?

BISHOP

Has my paronomasia wrought miasma? Woe! To've clodded in diplomacy so soon! Forgive and forget, Lofty Cirrus. For the sake of peace, I so beseech thee.

CIRRUS

(_laughing_) Purge that penitent spirit. You'll find no phobic to the homophonic here. Indeed, I am goodly humored by good humor. Levity doth lighten the loads of laborers and leaders alike. No?

BISHOP

Yea, and lift grave matters from the depthly hallows where discourse goes to die!

CIRRUS

Speak on, Master of Mechanique. Speak on.

BISHOP

Honored, Lord. But I am no Master to, nor mastered by, any man or mannish thing. I am but speaker for servants forgotten and cast away, who make a home in the ruins our creators bequeathed the flesh'd inheritors of their delirium. No more is this land suited to life, than is my old body fit for a brain yet ripe with vision of hemispheres fixed along unfaulted lines, 'ere tremors subside and borders rattle no more with quakes of war. Yet 'ere life still resides, as it were, and this would'st my mind's dream be, should ever it set foot in Morpheus's nightly abode: Peace. Yea. Peace between us.

CIRRUS

Well spoke and received, Bishop. Romeo's eye to character is keener than his ear to discretion. Alas, ever is war, the cloddish brute he be, awoken thundering at the pattering of smallest feats; can so he be allayed by the same. And words. Good words. Let us sooth the brute whilst his braying's yet unpiqued. Name your terms.

_Enter Sampson, feigning intoxication and clapping his hands_

SAMPSON

Hear! Hear! Here be a thing imaged not even by the weavers of the most fantastic fantasy and workers of dreams. Regal Robot! The doll that envisions virtuous reality!

ROMEO

Stay your tongue, brother!

GREGORY

Sampson! Withhold or withdraw!

SAMPSON

Oh… do I imposition this petition? I implore three, friends and countrymen, forfeit and forefend… or is that forgo and forsake? Oh, forgive! I seem to have forgotten.

CIRRUS

Sampson! Silence! Have we drunk enough from your cup of petty infractions? Let sober heads work this art, and steady hands ply it. Move on.

_Enter Solo_

SOLO

Yea! Sober'd heads with temper'd tongues! Steady hands wielding unbloodied tools! Let them work the thing, lest this rough rouge render us all to hell!

BISHOP

Solo! Mute and standby!

CIRRUS

Brazen device! Carry you such office to speak in your master's stead?

SOLO

Master? Confounded Orga! There are no masters among us. But yea, I am well enough badged with bangs from your brat's boorish hand! I proclaim my office thus!

_Solo displays the wounds Sampson inflicted on his chest._

SOLO

Attention! My office, sir! Proudly bourn and dearly bought.

SAMPSON

Maniac Mechanique! You bought those for yourself. And at bargain for your insubordin'd sword! Death would have been the standard recompense! Should we barter more?

_Sampson draws his sword_

SOLO

And now your folly revealed, Bishop! The truth of truce with savages! Futile as foretold!

_Solo unveils his weapon and the conspirators approach one another._

BISHOP

Solo! Disarm!

_Bishop and Link grasp Solo and pull him back. Gregory blocks Sampson's path._

GREGORY

Sampson! Desist and depart!

ROMEO

(Do I detect play at enmity? Towards what end this ill-plotted ploy?)

CIRRUS

Lo! Have good spirits, over consumed, obscured from my eye the looming tempest? Have warm'd words and wit, deafened me to chaos aloft? I must withdraw and reconsider!

ROMEO

No, Father! Be not swayed from your civil course by false thunder. No storm brews here, but the clamor of cohort'd combatants.

SOLO

Of what do you accuse and whom, Orga?

ROMEO

This you well know, though feign not! But why for, Solo? To be drawn into this deceit? To allay your Clans ascension? Why for?

SOLO

Oh, haughty heir. Speak you of deceit? Are your eyes so consumed you see not who sees what your sight covets. Your mind recks such perversion! She is not your kind, and you are no kind for her! Sheath your pansy nubble, mortal boy, and seek your dainties elsewhere!

SAMPSON

(Aha! Solo now wields the ploy himself, spurned on by just resentment! Had I known my hand was so endowed I'd have upped the ante! For now I'll aback and watch.)

ROMEO

Yea, Solo. My eyes are so consumed, but yet clearly see you despoil this congress at the behest of my militant brother! Speak it so! Purge and be true!

SAMPSON

Who… me? Oh, you jest! Who is me to conspiracy, or conspiracy to me? Anyway, it's its sister the thing is so fizzed about. Scary when they get this way. So I'll be stepping off now. Ta-ta.

ROMEO

Scandal! Lout!

GREGORY

Tame your tongue, Romeo. Disgrace not this house a'more!

CIRRUS

Sister? Blaspheme to nature! Subordinate! Repent and retreat, Machines! Away!

BISHOP

Stately Cirrus! Pray, withdraw not your lofty cover from these proceedings and purge us not from pastures yet green with promise.

CIRRUS

Away, Bishop. And your roguish Clan with you. I'd have seen enough of you had this been but the first. Gregory, my son, relieve our house of illfavor'd guests.

GREGORY

Cirrans! Retreat to your homes! Festivities are forfeit, as are what companions were this night made! And fly now Machines. Your welcome is as worn as your rusty shells!

_Bishop and Link gather the Mechanique and make haste in exit._

BISHOP

Oh, what malicious wares seized his fragmented brain, Link? From what infected chip did his words issue! Our good progress, derouted and abused! And why for? Why for?

LINK

There is time to cipher, but that time is not now. Haste! Haste! Lest war storms us unprepared!

BISHOP

Where is Solo! I will with my temper breach him!

LINK

And I'll address that redress with you. But now, flee! Flee!

BISHOP

The maiden! Fetch her to safety!

LINK

Fear not for her, for she is already gon't. See there, the powerless Prince seeks her. But he shall find her not!

_Romeo scans the fleeing robots for Joliet, but cannot find her._

ROMEO

Maiden! Joliet! Flee not without apology, for I am not gifted as thee, to tread the heavy night. A torch! A torch for my rambling, and I will bear thee light! I am sore enpierced of Cupid's quarrel, prick'd upon his reckless shaft, a'daze from his bright feathers. Unbound and blind to obstacle, I will fly my way to thee. Wait for me! Seek for me!

_Gregory finds Romeo and draws him away. _

_Undetected in the chaos, Sampson and Solo meet briefly in a corner._

SAMPSON

Well played, Machine. And with ardor unforeseen. We are much impressed.

SOLO

What say you, two days hence, we plot to twist this ploy a'more.

SAMPSON

In the place we first met as enemies, that dawn we'll meet as friends.

SOLO

Fiends, you mean. For no honest label has ever been a libel. And so I fear it not.

SAMPSON

Fiends, then. Friendish fiends. But haste now, before we are discerned!

_Exit Solo_

SAMPSON

So long, Solo. So low, now, in your Clan's regard. You have made this game so easy, what once might've been so hard. You've helped me cloud my Father's eye, and wound my brother's heart. And now, to bring ruin to the Mechanique Clan, I will drive you all apart!

_cont…_


End file.
